


To Ashes

by Umeko



Category: d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Drabble, F/M, First Loves, Infidelity, Love Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne of Austria reflects on her indiscretion with regards to the Duke of Buckingham after learning of his death</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas and are now in public domain.

It was a shock for her to hear of his death, at the hands of a disgruntled servant no less. It was a wonder she had restrained herself thus far to dine with her lord husband and act nonchalant while her heart was aching. Now she had dismissed the maids and her ladies. Some things she had to do alone. The fire was blazing brightly in the fireplace of her room despite the warm night. The king would be out all night carousing with his generals and favourites, including Captain de Treville’s musketeers who had preserved both her honour and that of France by retrieving the diamonds she had so freely given away in a fit of folly.

 

_It was never meant to be,_ she took out the plain ebony box she kept hidden in her drawer, under the Bible her father had given her when she was confirmed. With a trembling hand, she unlocked it with the silver key she kept on her person at all times, save when in bed with her husband. Louis would never have guessed. It was unseemly and scandalous for a married woman, much less a queen, to exchange such correspondence with a man other than her husband. 

She sat down on a footstool beside the fireplace. Close enough to feel the heat but far enough to prevent her skirts from being singed. Slowly, she pulled on the scarlet ribbon which bound the precious missives, so that they came scattered into the cradle of her skirts. She picked up the first yellowed letter and fed it to the flames.

She saw him for the first time at her uncle’s castle where the English envoy was being hosted. There was talk of a match between a Spanish princess and the Crown Prince of England. She was very young then, more a child than woman but something stirred in her when their eyes met. For a split moment, no one else existed. Not her father, or her brothers and sisters. He was so dashingly handsome. She wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him.

She soon found out that evening at the ball when she slipped her minders’ watchful eyes. She was thirteen, a mere child even though she was showing the curves of womanhood. She ran out into the garden maze and found him there. It was dim and they chatted for a while. He was very witty and made her laugh. She had her first kiss and tasted the wine on his lips. His hands were large and warm as they encircled her tiny waist. That was before the strict upbringing of her parents kicked in and she pushed him away. Ever the gentleman, he escorted her back indoors. He apologised when he saw her clearly in the light of the ballroom and how young she was. They danced a few rounds before her aunt came running to separate them. 

She dreamed of being his wife but it was beneath the dignity of Spain. Princesses of Spain did not marry English dukes. She prayed she would be sent to England to wed their prince, for surely all Englishmen were like her beloved George. Alas, her prayers went unanswered. She was given to France instead for their queen.

Louis was nothing like George. He was a mere sapling, a boy barely older than her. For the good of Spain she had to endure this. Louis was a fool. He lacked George’s wit. Her first time was a disaster with Louis’ clumsy attempts to mate with her. She was an outsider at court. She could not understand the dangerous undercurrents or navigate them and Louis was of no help. Her duty to France was to provide an heir. She thought she might die of boredom but then George came back into her life.

The handsome Duke of Buckingham travelled frequently between London and Paris, acting as an envoy for the English. Their passion rekindled with unrelenting fire. Now she was a woman and he treated her accordingly. No more was she an innocent girl. When his duties took him to London, they kept a secret correspondence conveyed by trusted servants. Desire, passion and often lust flowed from their quills. On lonely nights when Louis was away, Anne would retrieve the letters and read them, imagining her lover with her. She was no shrinking maiden to be cosseted. 

_Dearest beloved, I long to feel your lips upon mine… to hear your voice trilling as I pleasure you…_

_I dreamt of you last night in my bed and I using you as a stallion does his mare._  

Of course it was mostly fantasy for the time and kisses they had stolen were rare. It was hard for her as queen to dodge the watchful eyes at court. It was a dangerous liaison. Louis would not forgive her, nor would France, if they knew she had lain with another, or worse, borne his bastard. She was not yet a mother, though France grew impatient waiting for an heir.

It was time to set aside this indiscretion of youth and close the door on this chapter of her life. Resolutely, she fed the last letter to the fire and watched as it turned into ash. She dabbed at the tears which had flowed unbidden down her cheeks. Henceforth, all that remained would be memories. 


End file.
